


Absolutely

by TheLynx



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dancing, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 17:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4272144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLynx/pseuds/TheLynx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yavven can't quite figure out Orlesian dances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolutely

**Author's Note:**

> Kink Meme fill. Prompt can be found [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14317.html?thread=54376685#t54376685).

“Inquisitor,” Josephine said, lips pulled into a thin line. “To the left, not the right.”

“Right, yes,” Yavven said with a frown. “Er, I mean, left. Of course.” He stopped moving, returning to his previous stance, and Josephine, with one of the elf’s hands on her back and the other holding her hand, followed suit. “I move like this…”

Josephine was a marvelously patient woman, he had to give her that, but he didn’t seem to be able to follow her instruction well enough to learn how to dance. Even Vivienne and Leliana had taken time out of their days to try to help him learn before they left for the Winter Palace, but with their departure only  a week away and Yavven still stepping on toes, Leliana had started to devise excuses for him to stay off the dance floor.

Not that he wanted the attention anyway, considering most would be negative. And the last time he’d been at a party like that had not gone well. Walking back into that environment was going to be difficult; dancing would be the last thing on his mind.

On one hand, he wanted to do good by his advisors and the Inquisition. On the other, he didn’t care about appealing to nobles and would rather spit in their faces.

He was too polite for that, of course. Unless they were Tevinter. He might not be able to restrain himself, as Dorian had learned the hard way when making a particular comment about elves in his homeland.

“Inquisitor?”

“Yes?” Yavven blinked at her. “Oh! Shit! Sorry.” He’d stepped on her again as he’d gotten lost in thought, and he quickly stepped back from her, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “Ir abelas, lethallin. I… You know what, how about we take a break, spare your poor toes?”

She gave him a doubting look and restrained a sigh. “We’ve hardly been here an hour, Your Wor—ah, Lavellan.”

“Perfect time for a break, don’t you think?”

“As you wish.” She shook her head. “Shall I ask Cassandra to—”

He almost choked on his breath. “Creators, no, not Cassandra. I don’t think either of us would survive that.”

She chuckled. “Yes, she might not be too amenable, although she does know how to dance.” She gave a shallow bow. “I will see you later then.”

He watched her depart his quarters, letting himself fall onto his couch when he heard the door click closed. “Oh, Mythal,” he groaned, rubbing his tired eyes. Reports were stacked up on his desk, he had to see a tailor later to double check the measurements on his uniform, and the scars on his face and back were beginning to bother him again. He would much rather do something more direct, like setting Venatori on fire or freezing red templars.

Sure, things might go smoother if he actually put some effort into learning to dance and charm the court, but when he was in the field it was easier to pretend he wasn’t surrounded by humans and leading a religious human organization. He’d put on an act and a fake smile for much of his life already, back when he was in Tevinter—he was tired of doing it for the Inquisition, and an entire evening with nobles might be too much for him.

The door creaked open again, though he was facing away from it and couldn’t tell who it was. Maybe Josephine had sent someone else to try to help him. Maybe it was a servant with food. He hadn’t eaten in a while, although his appetite had been dulled lately. He wasn’t skipping meals again, at least.

“I thought I’d find you here,” came the soft voice at the top of the stairs. “Scared off Josephine already? Or have you finally mastered the art of Orlesian dancing?”

“Art? Really, Solas, you have to call that shit art?” The tension left Yavven’s shoulders, able to relax in the company of a friend. Josephine was a friend too, of course, but as a rule he never got too close to humans, and he put more trust in Solas. He wasn’t sure quite where he stood with the other mage—a few short kisses and shared moments might not mean as much to him as they did to Yavven—but he was certain the descriptor of _friend_ would fit well enough. “I’d hardly even call it dancing. The rhythm and movements are all too…” He gestured with his hands in the space in front of him, not finding an adequate word with which to complete the phrase.

Solas snorted, leaning against the hearth a few feet away from the other elf. “Though you may not appreciate it, there is culture there. In fact, I find that the dances of Orlesian nobility are not so different from the nobles of other societies, from my adventures in the Fade.” His lips widened in a smile. “Even the elves of the Dales had similar dances. Surely you have a respect for them.”

“Fine, fine,” Yavven said, giving in. “But don’t bother telling me off for not learning the dances. I’ve heard quite enough of that from Vivienne.”

His eyebrows furrowed in concern. “You haven’t learned them yet?”

“I’ve tried. Can’t seem to get it. May as well see if I can just avoid dancing.”

Solas sighed. “Lethallin, really, you must…” He stopped himself, biting his lip, and Yavven couldn’t help but think that it was a rather good look for him. He took a few steps forward until he was in front of the sofa and leaned down, offering his hand, palm facing up.

Yavven stared blankly, his brain apparently not certain whether to be flustered or not. His lips parted, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I can practice with you, if you’d like,” Solas offered after a moment of silence. “I know the dances fairly well myself.”

“I… Yes, sure, we can try that.” Pulling himself back to reality, Yavven took Solas’ hand and stood, the two of them walking a few paces until they had enough room to dance in. He placed one hand on the middle of Solas’ back and held his hand with the other, as he’d been instructed earlier. Solas gently adjusted the position of his arms and nudged his feet until they were correct.

“It does take some practice,” Solas said at Yavven’s look of embarrassment. “But I believe you can pick this up well enough.”

“You have a lot of faith in me,” he muttered as the other started moving slowly, taking the lead as he gently guided Yavven’s body into the rhythm.

“And you should have more in yourself.” While the Inquisitor would have to take the lead if he danced with a noblewoman, the movements weren’t too different from being led. The motions were similar enough. “Dancing can be much like magic, if you enjoy such comparisons.”

 _I enjoy most things you talk about,_ Yavven thought, almost rolling his eyes at the sappy thought. Instead he cringed as he stepped on his partner’s toes, but they kept moving. “How so?”

“The movements. A mage moves their arms when casting a spell, always in a rhythm. In order to fight with a staff, they must maintain their rhythm precisely, or else they waste mana and become vulnerable in battle.” Another step on his toes, but with a longer interval than last time. “Being as skilled as you are, you have the rhythm down perfectly.”

“Skill with my hands doesn’t make my feet work any better.” But it did make finding a pattern easier, he supposed, so long as he focused anywhere but Solas’ glimmering eyes and slightly parted lips.

“And yet you call upon fire with all the same grace with which you wield ice,” Solas pointed out. “They are the same yet different.”

“I supp- _ose_ ,” Yavven said, the last part coming out as part of a startled sound as Solas suddenly dipped him, the air leaving his lungs. Solas was grinning, mirth twinkling in his eyes, and the Dalish had to calm his rapidly beating heart.

They danced for only a few more minutes before taking a break, Yavven almost in a daze.

“You’re improving quite nicely,” Solas said with an approving nod, letting go of Yavven, who felt mildly disappointed at the absence of touch. “And I would dare to say you found some of that enjoyable.”

“Oh, absolutely, vhen—very nice,” Yavven stammered out, fighting down a blush at his slip and hoping Solas didn’t notice. “That was very nice. With you. Fun.” He gave a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck, thankful that Solas’ only reaction was a raised eyebrow.

The only outward reaction, at least. Solas didn’t miss much, especially not the way _vhenan_ had almost slipped so easily, so naturally from his lips. He hid his surprise well.

And his worry. If the Inquisitor liked him that much, he should stop this now, before they both got hurt.

_Should._

“Sometimes it just takes the right teacher.”

Yavven laughed again, this time less nervously. “Yes, I suppose so.” He hesitated, then said, “Do you… want to dance again? Later, I mean. I should probably find something to eat now.”

“Of course, la—later, yes.” This time it was Solas stumbling over his words, _lath_ nearly slipping out of his mouth and surprising himself. “I haven’t eaten yet, either—do you mind if I join you?”

“You’re welcome any time, Solas,” Yavven said. He bit the inside of his cheek as he stared at the other man, then made up his mind, taking a few steps forward to kiss him, laying one hand on the side of his neck where it met his shoulder.

He felt Solas smiling against his lips, could see his half-lidded eyes through his own eyelashes.

“I’m afraid my lips may not be adequate enough sustenance to make up for dinner, Yavven,” Solas murmured.

Yavven laughed softly, lips still almost touching. “Dinner can wait five minutes.”


End file.
